


The Point of Inaccessibility

by lightningwaltz



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Antarctica, Apocalypse, Backstory, Bad Weather, College, Companions, Connecting, Dysfunctional Relationships, Father-Daughter Relationship, Female Relationships, Gen, Mentors, Underage Drinking, original anime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1563797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relationships are never easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CommanderEivlys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderEivlys/gifts).



> CommanderEivlys requested fic about Misato's interpersonal relationships. There are chapters for Dr. Katsuragi, Ritsuko, and Asuka. (And Shinji very briefly.)
> 
> I didn't intend for this fic to have such a monster length! But while reviewing canon I was reminded how much I love NGE and what it has to say about the difficulties (and rewards!) inherent in trying to connect with others. I also continued to love all the brief, tantalizing glimpses of the characters' backstories and tried to do my best to further flesh them out. 
> 
> Basically, I really enjoyed writing this. Thank you so much for the prompt, CommanderEivlys. I really hope you like it, and I enjoyed writing for you greatly!

This island was a strange, in-between kind of place. Not quite Chilean, not quite Antarctic. Half alive, half dead. Down here, by the beach, everything was mostly brown and drab. Lichen and moss, stone and sand. And the penguins. The squawking, squabbling penguins. Something about them called to mind a lackadaisical horde of old men. 

Today, Misato enticed a pair of them to stumble over to her. They pressed their wings down, and lengthened their spines to stare at her with eyes like bright, black beads. 

“You are _not_ cute,” she said, because their caterwauling always woke her up hours ahead of time. She bent down to get a closer look. “Well, maybe a little…” 

“Miss Katsuragi?”

“Oh. Yeah, hello!” She straightened her posture, and plastered a smile on her face. The island’s multinational group of scientists were personable, unpretentious, and their generosity made Misato feel like an endearing stray dog. Often it drove her further and further inland, until the implacable glaciers forced her to retreat. (Once, for variety’s sake, she had wandered the edge of a dormant volcano, and returned with a fistful of dark ash. But she hadn’t been allowed to keep it. Environmental treaties, and all that.)

One of the Russian scientists stood on the horizon, squinting down at her. Like Misato, he was bundled into a cumbersome jacket. Unlike Misato, he appeared as though he belonged in it. 

“Doing anything important?” he asked. 

“Oh, yeah, I’ve become very popular,” Misato joked, extending a hand to point at the penguins. However, when she turned to look at them, she saw that they were already toddling away. Soon, she couldn’t pick them out in the crowd even if she tried. “Fickle bastards.” 

The man laughed. “My superiors reminded me that you probably haven’t seen the chapel yet. Or are they wrong?” 

Her first Sunday morning on the island, Misato had heard footsteps crunching outside her window. Kneeling in her bed to look outside, she had seen a handful of bundled up scientists tromping off into the horizon. In the meager sunlight, they had looked far more awake than she could ever imagine being. She had quickly dived back under the pillows, twisting blankets around her body, effectively blotting out the world. 

“No, I’ve never been there. I, uh, don’t know what services are like though. I wouldn’t know what to do.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, sounding rather contrite. Or perhaps that was a hangover from his halting speech; early on, he had decided to test his Japanese on Misato, and she had responded in kind with her English (since she knew no Russian). “I just thought… Well, it’s pretty interesting. Something new to look at.” 

“True.” 

_They definitely see me as some stray._

On the way, they passed long-abandoned whaling stations. Giant, rusting metallic drums, century-old whale bones, and toppled columns galore; it looked like something out of a painting of hell. If ghosts existed in this archipelago, they probably lived here. 

The chapel, in comparison, was a tiny, unassuming structure. There was something almost pastoral about it, even though it was nestled within gray sky and grayer moss. From the outside, Misato estimated that it was about half the size of the apartment she shared with her mother back home. 

“My country… We flew in our own timber to construct this.” By explaining this, the scientist spared Misato the need to ask where they’d managed to find trees out here. 

Misato pressed her gloved fingers against its walls. She hoped to breathe in the scents of some distant Siberian forest, but mostly it smelled like the rest of the island; stone, salt, and frozen mud. 

The door made no sound upon opening it, and the stomp-clomp-stomp of their boots were discordant notes in their peaceful surroundings. Misato twirled around, slowly, eyes drinking in the crucifix, the iconography, and the scant handful of chairs. 

“Whenever I cross this threshold people go from seeing me as a scientist to seeing me as their priest. So strange how one can cast aside and take on identities with such ease.” 

Misato tilted her head, processing what he had just said. “So they have you conduct services?” 

“It’s economical to have employees here take on as many functions as possible.” He meandered down the aisle. “I’m glad to do it.” 

“A scientist _and_ a priest, huh? Do you ever get mixed up? Do you ever accidentally give a…” Misato struggled a bit, her second language flickering in and out like an ancient light bulb. “Do you ever start to give a sermon,” there, that was the word, “but you end up lecturing on moss instead of God by accident?” 

The man had been rummaging around in a small desk near the altar, but he took a break to laugh. “I can’t say that-”

His walkie-talkie blared to life, filling the room with a static screech. Her companion held it to his ear, speaking intermittently in Russian.

“Yes. Yes. Alright, I’ll bring her over right now.”

Ice began pumping through Misato’s veins. Even if she had been standing at the equator, no amount of warmth could find its way under skin.

“Your father’s ship just arrived.” The man held the walkie-talkie just below his chin. “Do you want to talk to him?” 

Misato shook her head so hard her ponytail thwacked her in the face. She tasted copper when she licked her lips. They must have cracked and bled in the dry air.

“I thought he was several days away.”

“The floes cleared up, I suppose”

Misato didn’t know she was rocking from side-to-side, until she heard the creaking of the wood. She made herself go still, like that statue of the Virgin Mary up on the altar.

The scientist/priest’s eyes went soft, not quite pitying, but still too sympathetic to bear. He ended the walkie-talkie communication, and then followed this up by shutting the desk drawer. 

“Here,” he said, placing something in Misato’s hand. “Remember how I told you how we brought wood over to build this chapel? There was a surplus of it, and we carved some of these as a result. We don’t give them away to just anyone, you know.” 

Misato grabbed the crucifix by its chord, held it up so that the cross was level with her eyes. Someone had whittled the thing to uniform smoothness, and then painted it silver. When she slipped it over her head, the crucifix felt reassuringly durable against her heart.

“Thank you,” she said. “I guess I get a souvenir from this island after all.” 

The man hesitated just as he laid his hand on the doorknob. “Do you want to pause for prayers?” 

Whenever Misato went to the dentist, she’d sit there in the waiting room, legs shaking, almost sick with the need to _get the unpleasant thing over with_. She felt this again, now, mere minutes from her father.

“No,” she said. “Let’s postpone that until my trip back.”


	2. Dr. Katsuragi

Their ship sailed further and further south, into areas of the world that had once abhorred and delighted medieval map-makers. The waters here were rough, buffeting the ship back and forth. Several seas converged here, and Misato idly wondered if this was the oceanic equivalent of tectonic plates meeting.

As they drew closer to Antarctica proper, the landscapes gave way crystalline blue waters, and towering blocks of rock and ice. Misato stared out a cabin window, transfixed, and she soon felt the presence of someone behind her. She didn’t have to look; she knew it was her father. After their perfunctory greetings on the beach she had no particular interest in speaking with him.

But, though he wouldn’t leave, he also wouldn’t say so much as a hello. It fell to Misato to turn around, to set the gears in motion. She folded her arms, and stared him straight in the face. 

_You’re stuck with me now. You're stuck with me for life. You can’t make me go away._

“Hey, dad.” She saw a reflection of herself in the angles of his cheekbones, and the way his bangs curled at the edges.

“Misato.” The name didn’t seem to fall easily from his lips, and why should it? “I think we will be landing in about an hour.” 

“Oh.” He seemed ready to turn away, but Misato wanted that even less than she wanted to talk to him. “Aren’t you going to… I don’t know. Ask me about grades? Something?” 

Her father blinked, evidently mystified. “I’m sure they were fine, or else your mother would have told me when I tried to arrange this trip.” 

“I got perfect scores in everything, dad.” Her hands balled into fists.

“That’s wonderful, Misato.” He sounded like he meant it. 

She was fresh out of things to say. If this were her mom, she’d share news about her friends or gossip about celebrities. Her father knew none of her friends, and the magazines in Antarctica’s islands seemed at least two years out of date. 

“How’s your mother?” Dr. Katsuragi asked, probably because that was the single person they had in common. 

“She’s great,” Misato said. She weighed whether to say the next thing, but ultimately decided to go for it. “She has a boyfriend now. I think she might end up marrying him.” 

_Come on dad. Come one. Give a shit. Please give a shit about something._

Her father’s smile was genuine, and she wondered how he had the gall for that. “That’s great. I’m happy for her.” 

Her father talked about her mother as thought she were a distant acquaintance. Back home, mom reveled in happiness with her new boyfriend, and idly hoped her former husband could find someone new, too. It was as if Misato had never wished for her father to come home. It was if her mother’s crying had never kept Misato up at night.

Both had moved on to better, happier eras. And this was a kind of abandonment too. Misato was left alone as a jealous guardian of the truths of the past, and it made her want to claw her eyes out. 

*

The zodiac craft churned its way up to dry land. Up close, the waters were a perfect shade of blue normally found in crayons. Ice floated in delicate formations that reminded Misato of shampoo bubbles, and frost-smoke floated up and away from the surface. Here, the air circulating in her lungs felt pure and untainted, even if it stung the inside of her nostrils. Strange to think that toppling out of the boat would probably kill her the moment she splashed into the sea. 

When they made land, she and her father helped haul in shipments of fresh fruit and vegetables. The two worked in tandem, utterly silent, forever focused on the immediate goal. 

As Misato carried in one of the last boxes, she glanced over shoulder at the horizon. The ocean rippled, and surged; strangely serene on the surface, but fathomless below.

“Misato?” Her father again. 

“It’s all north from here. Kind of amazing, huh?” Misato ground her feet into Antarctic soil. _Antarctic soil._ Her sense of wonder began to resuscitate, flooding her system with hope.

“Yes, I agree.” 

For a while they stood there, watching the sun sink. The world transformed into a vision of blazing pink and red, and Misato had to shield her eyes. Within a few weeks, the sun would descend one fateful evening, and not return for days at a time. 

“Although,” her father added, as though there had been no lull to their conversation. “North is all relative. Go out in space, you see that the compass is basically meaningless. North could be considered south, south could be considered north.” 

_Know-it-all._

Misato turned her back on the shore, making her way to the supply house. “Have you ever been to space, dad?” 

“No.” 

“Then how would you know either way?”

*

The Japanese research station reminded her of a high school. Bland, uninspired, economical. People taped posters to their doors, blasted music, and attempted to reconstruct a normal pattern of life in such an abnormal environment. Misato was given a room with two beds (her impromptu tour guide explaining that everyone had roommates in the summer months, but far fewer people lived here in the winter months and consequently they could sleep alone.) The beds were glorified cots, but the blankets were numerous and terribly comfy. The people were friendly, but she often found herself alone during meal times. She didn’t really mind; the scientists had their experiments, the support staff had their work duties, and no one had asked to babysit some random kid.

Early on in her stay, some of the staff took it upon themselves to escort her from research station to research station. Each was run by a different country, and they even put stamps in her passport. She was welcomed with hospitality (and a bit of awe when they learned her father’s identity.) During one of her few phone calls to her mother, Misato referred to it as her “trip to the U.N.,” and felt terribly homesick at the sound of her mother's laughter.

Within a fortnight the Japanese received their last shipment of supplies and food, and this marked the official start of this station’s winter in Antarctica. 

Naturally, that meant the scientists and staff threw a party to mark the occasion. 

After a customarily brief conversation with her father, she was left on her own by a table full of liquor. Next to it, beer bottles floated in ice-lined coolers. Many of the party-goers hovered around a television, trying to remember how to get it to connect to the VHS player. At this annual celebration, attendees watched horror movies late into the night. 

A member of the dining staff seemed to take pity on Misato, and walked over to speak with her. “Are you enjoying yourself?” 

Misato donned her most congenial expression. “Oh, yeah, Antarctica’s beautiful. I’m having a good time.” 

The woman gave Misato a skeptical, searching look. _Uh oh, maybe she’s more observant than I thought._ “Really?” 

“Well… Look at it this way; when I’m back in school I’ll have bragging rights for at least a year. That’s worth any boredom.” Misato sighed, realizing this was already the longest conversation she’d had in days. 

It was also a risky, bratty thing to say but her companion giggled. “Fair enough.” 

Misato smiled back, but her gaze slid to her father. He cheered with the other scientists as the start of some movie replaced snowy, staticy nothingness onscreen. Her father had always been polite to mom’s friends, but he had also seemed baffled by the hubbub involved with socialization. And yet he seemed to like these people- this small community- just fine. He actually belonged here.

“He really wanted you here, you know.” 

That caught Misato’s attention. “I know that,” she said, defensive and curious all at once.

“I mean it,” the woman insisted. “Our bosses weren’t keen to let you come here. We don’t even allow kids here in the summer, let alone in the winter.”

“Oh?” This was interesting. Somehow she had never paused to wonder if red tape had almost barred her from this trip. When her mother had told her about it, she’d been too damn angry to think of much but her rage.

She stared at her father again, and found herself wishing he’d stare back. Just once.

“The rumor going around is that your father stonewalled management completely. Straight-out refused to do his work unless they let you come out here. Either way, he seems a lot happier now that you’re around.” The woman put her hand on Misato’s shoulder, and then wandered away to join a cluster of her own friends.

This left Misato alone, hands in her pockets, thinking hard. She only came back to herself when the dog in the horror movie transformed into a gory beast with multiple snarling heads. Misato had had enough; she’d had enough of her father, and boredom, and this party. No one was looking at her, so she grabbed two bottles of vodka, and stuffed them into the inner pockets of her jacket. She wasn't quite sure why she did it, but she was out the door within seconds. The impromptu smuggling mission gave her a bizarre, boxy appearance, and no one would have been fooled for a moment.

But no one was looking at her, after all. She got away with it.

*

Misato woke to a parched throat. She rolled over, tried to ignore the pounding in her head, and realized that it was actually someone knocking politely on her door. 

The floor was cold against her feet, and goosebumps dotted her arms. Outside her window, it was pitch black. She lurched to the door, doubled back to hide the vodka, and then returned to the door. It hissed open, revealing her father. 

“No one’s seen you for a while…” It sounded nothing like an accusation, and somehow that made Misato far more annoyed. “Are you okay?”

“Dad, it’s the middle of the night.” She wanted to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep him from smelling any alcohol. But that would probably seem even more suspicious. 

“It’s… It's noon, actually.” During all her time here, Misato was pretty sure this was first time he had laughed in her presence. 

“Fine, I’ll get up.” She punched the button that closed her door, and watched in satisfaction as her father disappeared from her sight.

*

Misato sliced up a bagel and stared hard at the darkness just beyond the cafeteria window. It was Midwinter Day, and perpetual night had come for them all. The station’s outdoor lights allowed scientists to navigate the journey from building to building, but their inherent artificiality somehow increased the gloom of their surroundings. Beyond that harsh ring of illumination, the sky was bruise-purple and endless. Endless. 

Misato shivered, and wondered what compelled any adult to try and make a life in such a wasteland. Humanity, as a collective, really should have known better when Antarctica spat Shackleton and company back out. 

The cafeteria doors swung open while she contemplated the arrogance of man. Her father walked in, and Misato was peeved and amused by the coincidence.

“I came to see if there was any coffee.” Despite staring right at Misato, his words always seemed to float just above her head. 

Misato reached for the coffee pot, shook it back and forth, and heard no liquid jostling within it. It was empty. “You’re out of luck, I’m afraid.”

“Ah.” And now her father looked more perturbed about this than he had about Misato’s mother moving on. “That’s easily solved, isn’t it?” 

Dr. Katsuragi ground coffee beans, and Misato Katsuragi ground her teeth. When the toaster beeped at her, that, at least, gave her something to do. 

“Are you happy?”

“Huh?!” 

Her father filled the coffee maker with water. “I meant what I said. Are you happy here?” 

She stared down at the counter. Somehow it was as if her father had just placed his heart in her care, and she had no idea what to do with it. 

“It’s treating me better than it treated Shackleton, that’s for sure.” She met his eyes for the first time in this encounter, and allowed herself to smile, albeit in a tentative sort of way. It was the truest expression she had made in a while.

“Yes. It helps that we have reliable heating, I bet.” 

Misato nodded, whilst the scent of coffee bled into the air. “I’ll have some fun stories to tell my friends when I go back I guess.” Case in point: back when it was still summer, a skua bird had snatched a piece of toast right out of her hand. “But, yeah, it’s been interesting. Bit different than I had expected.” 

“Different?” The fluorescent lights casted his skin in an artificial, blue-ish glow. Looking him straight in the face, Misato realized he had circles under his eyes and they were only a few shades lighter than the midnight sky. “How so?”

_I have no idea what to expect from you, for one._

But she couldn’t say that. “Well…” Misato glanced at her toenails. She had painted them glittery green, and the paint was already flaking off. “You hear the word ‘Antarctica’ and you think it’s just going to be constantly snowing, right? Because it’s so cold. And you've seen the pictures. I even _knew_ from stuff you’d said as a kid that that wouldn’t be the case. And still, when I got off the boat, I was surprised at how dry everything was. I don’t think it’s snowed once since I’ve been here. Lots and lots of wind, but no snow.” 

“Right. That’s a common mistake.” And suddenly Misato wanted to smash his coffee mug right into his arrogant face. “Antarctica is actually a desert, believe it or not. Snow is a very rare occurrence.” 

“Yeah.” Misato spread butter on the other bagel and made a concentrated effort to not look at him. Even if she shared the same space with him, it did not mean she was required to share a _conversation_ with him.

“And now you’re angry with me again.” Her father poured coffee into a mug, and drank from it immediately. 

Misato swallowed, perturbed by his naming what was going on. People shouldn’t do that. “I’m not angry, this is just how I talk.” 

“But you’re not talking at all, anymore. That’s how I know.” 

Misato picked up a washrag, folded it and unfolded it. Folded it and unfolded it. “That’s the thing. You don’t know me.” _You gave up on knowing me years ago_. “But you still think I’m stupid.” 

Some of the color drained from his face. Even thought this should have satisfied her, Misato mostly just wanted to return to bed. 

“The first accusation has some truth, but the second has no merit at all.”

“Is that so?” Misato’s voice cracked, and cancerous self-loathing dug into her heart. “Then why do you correct everything I say?” Spoken aloud it sounded petty and juvenile but there was no taking it back. 

“That’s how I come across to you?” 

Misato nodded, mute and tired.

“Oh god.” Her father pressed his palms against his eyes, and Misato panicked, wondering if he would cry. But when his hands fell away, his eyes were as dry as any desert. “No, Misato. That's the opposite of what I think. Whenever you decide to do something you learn everything you can about it, and I would never dare to think of you as misinformed. You’ve been this way since you were a toddler. I remember that much, at least. I like to think you get some of it from me.” 

Misato ducked her chin into her chest, wanting to run away. Wanting to hear more. “Oh.” 

“Will you have lunch with me?” 

“Okay.” 

They sat at the very edge of a dining hall table. Her father drank his coffee, Misato ripped her bagels into tiny pieces, and very few words were exchanged. When Misato stood up, her bench screeched across the linoleum floor. As loud as a bullet expelled from a gun.

“Listen,” her father said, “I’m going back to the Pole station tomorrow. That’s actually where I work most of the time.” 

She could hear it in his voice; he was planning to leave her here. 

“Fine. Take me with you.” 

Misato could see permanent wrinkles on his forehead, presumably from anxiety and stress. She had noticed them before, but this was her first time wondering what might have put them there.

“Is it the weather there that dangerous?” 

“The isolation ends up being more dangerous than the weather.” Dr. Katsuragi said, and it sounded like a story only partially told.

“Then why on earth are you planning to go there without… without any of your family?” She choked the words out.

Whenever her father fell silent, it never seemed to be out of anger. Rather, it was as if he dove headfirst into a well of contemplation and no other human could touch him. 

His eyes met hers again. “Alright. I’ll take you with me.”

* 

At the South Pole, the cold gnawed her bones like a ravenous beast, and she wondered why her father claimed the weather was the least of their concerns. Everything was as flat as the bottom of a frying pan. Other than a building here, a building there, the world was an empty canvas. A blank sheet of paper out of which scraps of humanity had attempted to derive meaning. In the few hours of daylight, the world shone whiter than a fresh coat of paint.

In comparison to this, the coastal research station had been like a tropical resort. As Dr. Katsuragi’s daughter, Misato was a begrudgingly welcomed guest. They thawed a bit when they noticed she kept out of the way, was diligent with her daily chores, and could even make them laugh. Soon, they were apologizing to her for how dull their station could be. Many of them could watch a person for long moments, blinking rarely. Misato learned that this was called “the Antarctic stare.” 

Her father had grown warmer, too, in light of their ceasefire.

(Or, perhaps, _she_ had warmed to _him_ , and was now seeing Dr. Katsuragi as he always had been.)

Over time, she began to understand his warnings about the toll this would take on her mind. Her bottles of vodka had made the journey with her. At the last research station, she drank for the nasty, transgressing thrill of it all. Here she drank to stave off boredom. Her next-door neighbor had a tendency to blare classic rock at all hours, usually playing the same song twenty times in a row. The bass would rattle their shared, thing wall. Often she’d get so intoxicated, she’d start singing along, and sometimes she’d hear him laughing at her. 

*

Her father once told her that his research team’s objective was drilling samples of a lake that had been frozen over. Eventually he took her to see it. She had been expecting the world’s large ice skating rink, until she finally saw it in person. This place was as colorless and flat as the rest of the South Pole region, and the only distinguishing feature was the bright red drill and several squat buildings. 

“You look disappointed.” 

Misato wanted to say something sardonic, but she heard herself saying, “I just hoped to see more, I guess,”

“Understood. I think I forgot to mention that it’s below a rather massive ice sheet. Hopefully we’ll breach it while you’re here.”

“What are you hoping to find?” she asked, as her father skied forward, presumably towards one of the buildings at the outskirts of the “lake.” She ordered herself to follow him, and the movement returned life to her limbs. 

“Hm, well… The water is millions upon millions of years old. There could be interesting bacteria in there, as well. Maybe other kinds of life that are more advanced.” 

Misato frowned. It was difficult to judge distance in this type of landscape, but she _thought_ the buildings were getting closer. “And you swear that the lake below isn’t just frozen?” 

“No, the glacial shelves insulate it. We’re pretty sure it has tides that depend on the current position of the moon. Lots of oxygen, too.” 

Misato tried to imagine what kind of life would evolve down there, and wasn’t sure she wanted to know. 

They spent some time recuperating in the small research station, and their hosts even fortified them with hot chocolate. Once again, Misato noted the fondness Dr. Katsuragi’s co-workers held for him, and she wondered why that was so. Perhaps in such an extreme environment, his type of leadership was what people needed. Maybe he had never been meant for life in Japan, and no amount of wishing could change his ultimate fate. It was a bitter pill to swallow, so she chose to ignore it.

Their sightseeing continued; perhaps he felt bad about the lackluster exterior of the frozen lake. He told her he was taking her to pay a visit to the true South Pole, and warned her that this might be boring, too. When he said they could make the trip because it had been unseasonably warm this year, Misato just laughed in his face. 

The closer they got to their destination, the more an object loomed on the horizon. Misato was astonished to find it was a statue of Lenin. 

“This was the former Soviet station for the Southern Pole of Inaccessibility.” 

Misato’s teeth chattered in the ‘unseasonably warm’ weather. “Wait, what does that mean?” 

“This is the exact point on the continent that’s furthest from any shoreline. This might be the most difficult place in the world to reach.”

_And we both managed to get here together._ It was a sentiment that remained unspoken. All the same, Misato’s heart was light in her chest when they entered the historical building. There was a golden guest book, and Misato scratched her own signature into it. She handed the pen to her father.

“I’ve already signed it a few years ago.”

“Dad. Come on.” 

_You’ve never signed while I was here._

He acquiesced, and Misato watched as- with a few strokes of his hand- his name took shape next alongside hers.

*

Towards the end of winter, Misato sustained a mild injury. Her neighbor continued to play music at full volume, and today Misato refused to be a passive participant. She finished off one her bottles of vodka, and she jumped on the bed in time to the beat of the song. The springs squeaked angrily, and a few times she was in danger of bashing her head into the ceiling. Ultimately, though, her undoing came as she misjudged the side of her bed, and stepped heavily onto the floor. Her leg crumpled underneath her, and she went down like a sack of flour. 

She shrieked, of course, but she doubted anyone could here her over Ye Olde Classic Rock Hour. 

Misato pulled herself to her feet, wincing with every step of her bad foot. Her knee stung, and she was pretty sure that she would find she had scraped the skin. 

She limped along. The base was small, and it took very little effort to find her father. When he wasn’t with her, he was in the laboratory, guiding examinations of melted ice samples.

“What happened to you?” he asked. 

(Later, she would look back on this day and realize her father seemed far more beleaguered than her situation warranted. Had he guessed, then, what was soon to befall the continent? Had he known? Could he have stopped it?)

But, in the moment, she’d been taken aback in a positive sort of way. She had been intending to complain, but now she wanted to minimize the situation for his sake. “I just… I tripped. That’s all. I might have broken my foot.” 

“Fine, I’ll take you to the infirmary.” He signaled to someone with his eyes, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and let her lean on him. On the way, she would wonder if he had ever held her hand when she first learned to walk. Maybe she’d look for it in baby pictures when she got back.

He sat her down in a patient’s chair. “You know that any injury in Antarctica is a huge liability, right?” 

“I didn’t fall because I wanted t-”

“That’s enough.” Dr. Katsuragi never raised his voice to her but he could make his displeasure known.

The room reeked of antiseptic sterility, and Misato seethed as he examined her foot. Deep below, she worried that she had blown it. That he hated her now, and would send her home on the first available plane.

_Fine. I hate him anyway. I don’t care. This stupid non-vacation doesn’t make up for all the years without him._

“It’s not broken. You just twisted it,” he said, seemingly at peace again. “Good. Keep off it for a few days and you should be fine.” 

Misato knew- she just knew- she watched him with wide eyes. “Yeah, I will.” 

On their way out of the doctor’s office, his pager beeped. When he looked down at it, his ensuing grin looked so much like one of Misato’s that she wanted to cover her eyes. He rummaged in a nearby supply closet until he found a pair of spare outdoor coats. 

“We’re going outside?” She asked, confused. Misato thought she was sober now, but she still couldn’t quite comprehend this.

“Yes.” Her father put his arms through his sleeves. “You’ll see.” 

She leaned against him all the way until they reached outdoors. Snowflakes got caught in her lashes, as she looked around. Tried to figure out why he was so excited.

“It’s snowing,” Dr. Katsuragi explained. “You said you had seen any snow storms since you got here, so I…” 

Misato held her hands out. Snowflakes collected in her palms. Melted, and then froze again. She forgot about the pain in her ankle.

“How often does this happen again?” 

“In the winter? Almost never. So you’re getting to witness something rare.” 

Back in Japan, snow meant nothing to her. But here, they were in coldest place on earth and it just so happened to be a desert. And here, snow transcended the commonplace and became a kind of miracle. It was all her father had to offer her, but maybe she could learn to accept that in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the various details about life in Antarctica are cribbed together from stuff I've read/watched on it over the past few years! Case in point: the Lenin statue at the Pole of Inaccessibility is a real thing, as is the golden guest book that you can sign if you manage to make it out there. There are also chapels associated with various research stations. The movie the scientists are watching is The Thing. AKA; yet another story about cosmic horrors originating in Antarctica. 
> 
> "Shackleton" refers to Ernest Shackleton, who was an Antarctic explorer from the turn of the century. During a 1914 expedition his ship sank, and he and various crew members were trapped on pack ice for a couple years. He later wrote a book about his experiences, and it's a pretty intense read. I like to think Misato read it before being shipped out to her dad.


	3. Intermission

The water didn’t smell much like blood, but it sure looked like it. A whole ocean that resembled blood, and Misato was a pathetic speck in this gory body of water. The deep gash on her chest was nothing compared to this. Just a drop in the sea of Not Quite Blood.

She’d huddled in the escape pod, watching the dangerous dance of smoke and ash in the sky. Vile, misshapen creatures floated past, and she couldn’t tell if they were living or dead. Lights danced across the sky, and they resembled insect wings. 

There was nothing to do but think. And so she railed at her father for denying her a quick death, and condemning her to a slow one. Such arrogant penitence. Such self-abnegating vanity. She hated him. Hated him, hated him. In her vortex of deprivation, her tainted memories reconstructed her father. Brought him back to life as a pathetic, one-dimensional man.

_He allowed himself to die. He allowed himself to die. He allowed himself to die fat away from me._

The plodding march of time pared away Misato’s identity like flesh being carved from bone. Once, she spent the better part of a day contemplating her name. Misato Katsuragi. All the Katsuragis were probably dead (along with everyone else) and that surname held no meaning in this razed and empty earth. Misato was a name imparted on her by her parents, while they were still together and in love. That made it just as invalid as her surname.

_I’m endless, because there’s nothing left to me._

When the rescue boat found her, she howled with laughter. It was a hallucination, and she was dying at last. When she reached the after life, she’d make sure her father knew she would never forgive him. Not then, not for eternity. And he would know it. He would know it. He _had_ to know it.

Her pod landed on the surface of the boat. The hatch opened. Worried hands carefully pried her from her prison. 

She felt skin against her skin, flesh against her flesh, and it was hideously alive. The girl screamed.


	4. Ritsuko

_I really like mornings_. 

The revelation crept in, sly and self-assured, like the buzz from the first sip of something caffeinate. At dawn, the sun’s rays were as sharp as a butcher’s knives, and they coaxed halos from Ritsuko’s hair. Misato often slept through this time of day- always planned to have her earliest classes around noon, in fact- but there was something invigorating about staring down many hours of daylight. 

_I need to wake up earlier._ It was a vow she made every rare early morning. It was a vow she broke every time. 

“Ready for today?” Ritsuko asked, radiating tension.

“Yeah,” Misato said, around a mouthful of cereal.

“Want to practice for the interview?” 

_Holy shit, she didn’t lecture me for eating like a child._

“Nah, I’m good.” 

Ritsuko didn’t press the issue and Misato poured some coffee directly into her milk and cereal. It was a combination she found economical, and Ritsuko always protested it. 

“You know what I heard the other day?” Ritsuko said. “Most of the coffee we have isn’t even real.” 

Misato watched marshmallows bob around in her impromptu latte. They soon melted into sugary sludge. “What does that even mean?”

“Second Impact destroyed tons of crops and soil, and apparently it’s hard to grow coffee now. Most of the stuff on the market is just something made to smell and taste like coffee.”

 _Then why do I get so wired when I drink it?_

“Isn’t that false advertising, though? I think there are still laws against that.” If Ritsuko had been in a better mood, Misato would have balled up a napkin and thrown it at her. “If that story’s true I didn’t know about it. Now the placebo effect won’t even work on me.” 

*

“Remember what I told you?” Ristuko said, as she circled Misato, presumably checking for clothing in disarray. All the while, their elevator lurched and lurched in an unsteady way. For a second or two, Misato was caught up pondering what she would do if the cord just snapped, and their elevator crashed its way down to the depths of this place. 

_I’d die. Just like anyone else._

“Misato?” There was nothing shrill or severe about Ristuko just now, but something about her voice commanded Misato’s attention anyway.

“Oh, yep! I do. You said to never show weakness around your mother.” Misato bore her teeth in her most conciliatory grin, even though it never fooled Ritsuko.

Her friend leaned in. Today she smelled of perfume rather than cigarette smoke, and that was how Misasto knew she was serious.

“ _Don’t_ be flippant about this. You remember sharks, right?” 

“It hasn’t been _that_ long since Second Impact, Ritsuko. Of course I remember what sharks were.”

“Then you’ve probably seen nature documentaries about them.” Ristuko seemed to grow paler as the numbers on the elevator became smaller and smaller. “If they smelled blood in the water, they’d just attack. My mother can be like that. And I don’t want her to upset _you_.” 

Ritsuko never quite knew how to come out and say ‘I care about you.’ Misato never quite knew how to say ‘thank you, I feel the same.’ 

She cupped the side of Ritsuko’s face, and smiled at her. “If you want, I can probably jam the elevator right now so we don’t ever have to meet her. But then we’d be stuck in this elevator with no food. So it’s your call really.” 

Ritsuko blinked up a storm, as though she could hide how her eyes went from affection to consternation and back to affection. She shoved Misato’s hand away.

“Okay, none of that.” 

The elevator ground to a halt. The doors slid open, sans the cheerful beeping of hotels or businesses. It was all business,here, and Misato was ready.

“I won’t embarrass you, Ritsuko. I promise.” 

*

“You dyed your hair.” Dr. Akagi stared at her daughter, a fond smile on her lips. 

Misato saw one of Ritsuko’s hands twitch, as though she wanted to brush her blonde bangs away and out of sight. “I sent you pictures, didn’t I?” 

“You did, it’s just… It’s another thing to see it in person. You look good.” 

“Thanks. I’m glad you think so.”

Misato’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, as though she were watching a tennis match. In person, Dr. Akagi hardly seemed like some bloodthirsty demon. Then again, even though Ritsuko shrunk in her mother’s presence she was grinning, too. And it lit up her entire face. 

“Anyway, are you okay waiting out here while I talk to Ms. Katsuragi?” Dr. Akagi looked over at Misato and nodded. 

For a second or two, Ritsuko looked lonely. And then she pulled herself together. Shrugged. Misato wondered if she had just imagined it.

“Sure, it’s no problem.”

And with that, Misato followed Dr. Akagi into the mechanized, gloomy depths of Gehirn Headquarters. She recalled that her roommate had grown up in buildings just like this. She had even spent two years underground, post-Second Impact. When she Misato over her shoulder, she saw that Ritsuko had planted herself in a swivel chair. Somehow she looked like a soldier at her post.

* 

“The world ended, but teenagers still have to do networking,” Dr. Akagi said, halfway through the interview. “I applaud your patience.” 

Misato laughed, uncertain why she wasn’t nervous at all. “I’m twenty, actually. I’m old.” 

Dr. Akagi seemed rather pleased with that answer. “What, no platitudes about how the world didn’t end and how there’s actually so much to be hopeful about?”

The desk was almost entirely free of papers or pen, but that didn’t surprise Misato. She had done her homework before this interview, and she knew full well that Dr. Akagi’s work was largely with computers.

“Well, we’re alive still, but, no, that's not automatically a reason to be hopeful. It’s meaningless to be alive unless you actually do something with yourself.” Misato didn’t quite know where this sentiment had come from, but the more she spoke the more it sounded true.

“Interesting. And that’s why you want to be a volunteer in Gehirn’s climate refugee relocation efforts this summer?” 

“Yes, you got it.” After all, Misato had intimate knowledge of what it was like to wait for the red, red ocean to swallow her whole. There was no reason for that to happen to someone else. 

“It’s a risky thing, you know,” Dr. Akagi said. “Bringing a personal element into your work can fuel your ambition in incredible ways. Or it could make you do foolish things indeed. I’ve seen both things happen. What will you end up doing?” 

Misato debated various answers, and was about to speak one aloud, when Dr. Akagi held up her hands.

“Don’t bother. You can’t answer that question honestly until you have actual work experience.”

“And some things you just kind of have to live through.” And Misato had already lived through a lot.

“Indeed. And in the interest of continued honesty, I hope you know that this internship is utterly thankless. You’ll see some of the worst devastation you can imagine, and most people you help will openly resent your presence. After all, they can’t hate the tsunamis that wrecked their homes, but they sure can hate the government officials helping them leave everything they know.” Dr. Akagi favored her with a bland little smile. “All this for no pay.” 

“All the same, it’s an experience I’d like to have,” Misato said. “So I can handle work that’s even worse some day.”

“’Even worse?’” Dr. Akagi laughed. “How bad do you think things will get? Well, never mind. I’ll definitely put in a good word for you, which means your internship is pretty much assured.” 

“Thank you so much!” 

Relief and pride roared through Misato’s veins, and it was even better than being drunk. It probably took the edge off what Dr. Akagi said next. 

“By the way, I feel like this also has to be said… I knew your father.” 

_Is that so? I don’t think I ever did._

*

Even though Tokyo-3 was comprised of the remnants of a decimated population, there still never seemed to be any sitting room on the train. Misato clutched onto the pole- her hand just above Ritsuko’s- and glanced around their car. Plastic-coated chairs, commuters with faces buried in newspapers, and too many advertisements to count. On the poster next to Misato’s head, someone had scribbled his love for his girlfriend. And then an unknown amount of time later he’d scribbled it out. 

_Maybe he shouldn’t have done that on an ad for a heart surgeon._ Misato smirked.

“So… you two got along.”

“Are you jealous about it?” It was blunt, maybe even cruel, but Misato had had enough of Ritsuko’s taciturn mood. 

“Jealous?” 

The conductor announced their next stop, and Misato wondered if one had to have a honeyed, yet empty voice in order to get this kind of job. The train guttered to a stop, and she crashed into Ritsuko. “Eek, sorry.” 

“This happens every time we travel together!” Ritsuko grabbed onto Misato’s shoulders, and maneuvered her back into an upright position. Sometimes, when they touched, Ritsuko dropped Misato like a hot coal. Other days, like today, she held on for a few seconds. “And, no, I’m not jealous. I thought that might be it, but no.” 

“So you _did_ feel bad.” Misato tapped on one of her temples. “Can’t fool me, you know. But it seemed you like two get along, too.”

“That’s the thing, though. She gets along with me the way she gets along with her coworkers. She gets along with me the way she got along with you. And she doesn’t even _know_ you.” The train doors closed milliseconds after some stragglers rushed into the train, and Ritsuko didn’t speak until they had brushed past her. “There’s nothing to distinguish me from her other relationships, even though we share blood.” 

_Blood means nothing._ It was too easily spilled, too easily incriminating, too often a precursor of pain and little else. 

“Maybe next time try to talk a bit more about yourself to her? She was leading the conversation from what I saw.” Misato knew that she herself would never have accepted this advice, but it was always easier to see someone’s situation clearly from the outside. “Maybe she feels as uncertain as you do.”

“Shouldn’t she be interested in me anyway?” Ritsuko snapped, and Misato couldn’t exactly argue with that. 

The conversation didn’t pick up again for several more stops. And then Ritsuko sighed heavily. 

“But, okay, I’ll try speaking up more. We’ll see how it goes.” She rolled her eyes. "Maybe the first thing I'll say is that Gehirn could at least _pay_ you this summer."

*

The semester trudged on. Campus lore had it that one’s second year was always the most taxing, and boring of them all. Misato had chosen to share an apartment with Ritsuko in order to avoid that fate, but ennui hunted her down anyway.

Their schedules were like two incompatible puzzle pieces. Ritsuko was the type to schedule her workload in manageable increments. She'd then reward herself with showers, standing in the bathtub until the conservation limits kicked in and the water shut off. Misato, meanwhile, had her masochistic devotion to frenzied all-nighters. For the most part, she was either sleeping late, or writing well into night. Interrupting her from either pursuit made her as irascible as a bear. 

She prepared for her internship, as well. In fact, the promise of a grueling summer with Gehirn was as much a talisman as the crucifix that hung around her neck. Whenever she finished a paper- usually around 5 a.m.- she’d be nauseatingly alert from hours of staring straight into her bright computer. She’d navigate the web until she found videos that had documented the devastation of second impact. She’d open a bottle of beer, and witness mudslides gobbling up entire villages. She’d witness great clouds of ash blocking out the sun, and instigating famine. She’d watch, teary-eyed, as mothers cried about giant waves snatching infants from their arms. And she’d drink and drink until serenity inundated her soul. She would need to be like this on the job.

Sometimes she'd do internet searches on her father. His name was now synonymous with other failed Antarctic explorers, and people on message boards lauded the tragedy and heroism of it all. Never mind that his "expedition" had been a comparatively cozy research station. Never mind that he hadn't even tried to fight for his life.

Whenever the sky grew light, she’d close her laptop before Ritsuko could wake up and scold her for being morbid. In the sudden silence, she’d survey their common room. Ritsuko wasn’t _that_ neat a person, but even her piles of battered notebooks would look orderly next to Misato’s mountains of junk. 

_We talked way more when we didn’t live together._

* 

Alone one afternoon in their apartment, Misato turned up the volume on her music player as loud as possible. The left earbud crackled every few seconds, and that meant it was bound to blow out in a few days. She figured she might as well send it on its way being as rowdy as possible. 

She spun around their for the pleasure of feeling her hair fly around in a loose arc. For the pleasure of the dizziness in her skull. She didn’t realize Ritsuko had returned until she was face-to-face with her perplexed roommate. 

“Hey,” Misato said, bereft and agitated at this disturbance of her thrashing, meditative state. She paused her current song and tossed the player onto the couch. 

Ritsuko just shook her head. “Sorry, sorry,” she murmured, and tried to leave the way she came. It was as if she’d caught Misasto doing something far more intimate. 

“Wait, hold up!” She dashed after Ritsuko, following her out the door. “You don’t have to go away or anything. I was just kind of… hanging out.” Misato smiled. 

“So, I’m allowed back in my own apartment?” 

“What’s with you?” Misato still had her fingers wrapped around the handle of the door. If she shut it, it would match all its nearby counterparts; murky green color, chipped gold numbering, and always closed to the outside world. 

“I spoke with our landlord on the way here,” Ritsuko said in that same pleasant voice. “Apparently you told her you were thinking about not renewing our lease, and living on your own next semester?” 

Oh, right. That conversation. Misato had stayed up well past dawn that day, and wandered over to the landlord’s office as soon as business hours started. She’d sucked on a lollipop from the candy bowl, and rambled at length to this friendly near-stranger. Yes, she had talked about potentially moving away. She had also talked about penguin videos she’d seen online.

“It was just small talk, I don’t know if I’ll actually do it.” 

Ritsuko folded her arms, and Misato incongruously admired (and bitterly envied) her friend’s perpetual composure. It wasn’t that she disguised her emotions, but she sure had skill for keeping everything in place. 

“Still. Clearly it was something on your mind. But you’ve never bothered to share it with me.” 

“Thoughts are illegal now?” 

“Of course not. But maybe it would have been nice to have more time to prepare. Especially since I don’t really know if I want to live with you either.” 

It stung. Of course it stung. Misato had been questioning their living arrangement but she still crumbled under the realization that Ritsuko had the same doubts.

“Great! But, hey, you still have plenty of advance notice!” She yelped, just as one of their neighbors wandered outside. She thought he was a grad student, and she was pretty sure he’d yell at them for making a racket. Instead he ducked his head, and pretended not to see them. Misato glared at his retreating feet because she couldn’t stand to look at Ritsuko. 

“Are we done here?” Ritsuko’s cheeks had flushed an interesting shade of pink and, once again, she made to leave the apartment complex.

“Hah, wait.” Misato shoved past her. “No, you just got back. _I’ll_ head out.” 

She went downstairs, she went outside, and her only goal was to put miles and miles of space between herself and Ritsuko. She drifted into a train station, quickly realizing she’d left her wallet back at home. But she had cash in one pocket (her phone and keys were, fortunately, in the other) and she purchased a day pass. She got on a train, and planted herself in it until a random stop. She got on a train going in a different direction and road it until the street-lights began to glimmer and rush hour traffic petered out. By her third train trip she was surrounded by young adults dressed up for a night on the town, and she needed a drink more than she ever had before. 

Her phone helped her locate the nearest bar. It led her to an overbearingly classy hotel establishment with handsome wooden tables, candles in trendy-looking lanterns, and a menu bragging about how they brewed their own beer from scratch. The natural population of this place seemed to be wealthy looking visitors to Tokyo-3, who were content to order single glasses of red wine before calling it quits. Misato, meanwhile, drank classy beer after classy beer until she could no longer feel her toes. 

At one point, a gaggle of women made their way into the bar. One woman held a baby in her arms. Judging by the infant’s cross-eyed stare and tiny prehensile-like feet, it was probably a newborn. After much laughter, the newcomers ordered an undemanding drink for the mother. Misato wondered if this was some kind of special occasion. A celebratory drink for a person who’d been unable to have alcohol for nine whole months, and who was now recovered enough to spend time with friends. 

The mother placed her baby in a car seat on the floor. Though she was fully engaged in conversation with her companions, her infatuated gaze always seemed to slide back to her child. To ascertain its safety and, maybe, to marvel at this new person she’d creation.

Often, the baby would look straight at Misato. She didn’t think the infant was really seeing her- it probably didn’t even know it had hands, yet- but she smiled back anyway. Maybe the child was transfixed by the way her cross glimmered in the candlelight.

*

“I can’t believe Ritsuko told you to come get me.” 

Misato sat slumped in Kaji’s car. He left the engine and radio on, as if to indicate he respected her wish to be let out immediately at her apartment. 

“You drunk-texted her your location,” he said, as if that was a reasonable explanation. “And even though I have a feeling you two had a fight, I don’t think she wants you to get kidnapped and murdered, either.” 

_Don’t you have an interesting imagination, Kaji?_ “I’m going to puke on your shoes.” 

He laughed, and played with the dial on the radio. It alternated between bouncy pop music, and grim news programs. 

She gestured at the dashboard. “I swear, this is you in a nutshell.” 

“What are you talking about?” He was far too amused, in her opinion, but he didn’t talk down to her the way people often did when they noticed she was drunk. 

She hunched over, putting her head between her knees. “Bleh, nothing,” her voice issued forth, muffled from her position and from the blood rushing to her head. “I probably should get out before I get you arrested for being a peeping tom, huh?” 

“If you want to,” he said, cheerfully. He was always cheerful. “You can find your way, right? Just open the door to the building, and go upstairs-”

“Shut up.” She opened the door to the car, and nearly collapsed onto the sidewalk. It was raining, ever so slightly. The night air lay like a cool shroud on her skin and she wanted to stay immersed in it forever. 

“I’m not convinced you know where you’re going.” She turned around to find he’d rolled down the passenger window. 

_I will probably end up dating Kaji._

It wasn’t the first time she’d had this epiphany, and it wouldn’t be her last. Sometimes, judging by the way he looked at her, she had an inkling he’d had the same thought. But Misato had never liked inevitabilities, especially not when they came wrapped in the form of a flawed, fallible human. She laughed harder still. 

“Good luck, okay?”

That could mean so many things, but she needed luck for each every one of them. “Thanks." She blew Kaji a kiss, and wandered away from him. 

*

Misato and Ritsuko had opted to live on the second floor, because that made it far harder for anyone to break in through the window. 

It had been a practical choice, yes, but on a day-to-day basis the stairs mostly seemed to be an obstacle for an inebriated Misato. She lurched up them, giggling, thinking in a distant way about how awful (and messy!) it would be if she tripped and fell. 

There was the usual fight with her keys, and then she made it inside her apartment. She slid open the door to Ritsuko’s room. Smacked it open, really. Her roommate pretended to be asleep, but her rigid posture and shallow breathing gave her away. 

Misato allowed gravity to take its course; she collapsed into bed, and wrapped her arms around Ritsuko. 

“Hi,” Ritsuko breathed. 

“Yes, I’m drunk.” 

“I’m so shocked.” She pressed her forehead against Misato’s collarbones, in an _I’m so glad you’re alive_ kind of way. 

For all the Misato was fond of talking (and talking and talking), it was moments like that that reinforced her opinion that words were just noise. Imprecise, volatile noise. There was much more clarity to be found in the placement of her hand on Ritsuko’s hip, and the way their heartbeats seemed to sync into a peaceful, steady pulse. 

“There was a baby at the bar I went to.” 

“Really? I hope it had invited one of its parents along.” 

Misato giggled. “Yeah. I just… God…”

“Hmm, yes?” 

Misato pointed and flexed her feet, reveling in the way they slid across the cool sheets. “Sometimes I still can’t believe there are people in this world who will never know what life was like before Second Impact.” In her intoxicated cocoon she could say those words without their usually accompanying twinge of fear. Second Impact was something that happened. Past tense. It was gone.

“I know what you mean.” Ritsuko’s eyes closed, and for a moment she looked as young as she actually was. “I saw all these primary school kids lining up for the bus yesterday and I thought that… that most of them were born after it happened, and now we can have full-fledged conversations with them. It's awful.” 

“Basically, we’ve become old,” Misato said, her own eyelids growing heavy. “But I swear we’ll always know each other. We’ll watch-” she yawned- “we’ll watch each other get older no matter where we live.”

Ritsuko asked something and, judging by her tone, it was probably important. But Misato was already well on her way to sleep. 

* 

During finals, they packed up their apartment. For a while, they lived among peaks and valleys of cardboard boxes that cast long shadows during afternoons.

One day, Ritsuko invited Misato up to the apartment roof. They sprawled out on a blanket, and watched the sky slip into the indigo shades of night. Ritsuko smoked away, and at one point, a curious Misato snatched a cigarette right from her friends lips. 

“Hey!”

Misato just stared at it, watching burning ashes flake away. Even the brightest shades of oranges saw their colors leech away as their fire went out. Before she placed the cigarette between her lips, she noticed that some of Ritsuko’s dark pink lipstick at had rubbed off on it. Her friend soon helped herself to Misato's bottle of wine.

Misato inhaled smoke into her lungs, feeling far more lackadaisical that when she drank. She soon handed the cigarette back to Ritsuko. Tonight there was blood on the moon, and it was a boiling scarlet. But it was far away, and she was sure it would not reach them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it's because I'm around their age but, when I first watched this anime a year ago, Misato and Ritsuko's relationship wound up being the heart of the show for me. I was really happy to have this opportunity to attempt to delve a bit into their backstory. Sometimes I think I'd like to see an NGE prequel about living in the immediate aftermath of Second Impact.


	5. Asuka

“Okay, but why do **I** have to be the one to babysit her?”

Ristuko glanced up from her computer. Its surface reflected on her skin, and for a second it looked like a web of greenish lacerations. 

“Because someone has to, and I told our superiors you’d be pretty good at it. Better than someone like me, that’s for sure.” Ritsuko typed away, her fingers a whirl of motion. “Was I wrong?” 

_Oh, awesome, appeal to my pride._ The thought was rueful more than anything else, because Misato knew that it was a method that worked on her.

“It’s just for the weekend, right?”

“Yeah, we’re just making sure her synchronization rates are still good.”

Misato’s resolve was wavering (if she had even had any real resolve to begin with) and judging by Ristuko’s smirk it was entirely obvious. “Can I at least see the Second Child’s file?” 

As soon as Ritsuko handed her the folder, Misato rather wished she hadn’t asked. Asuka Langley-Soryuu had packed lifetimes of misery into eleven short years. Misato wondered if she had been selected as a chaperon because her own brittle exuberance could provide the kid the barest facsimile of warmth. 

Some raw emotion must have flickered across Misato’s face, because Ristuko sighed. 

“Yes, we’re all going to hell, aren’t we?”

* 

The file led Misato to expect the (mostly) German counterpart of Ayanami. Someone wan, somber, and as dutiful as a machine. But from the moment the Second Child set foot in NERV headquarters, Misato was forced to revise her expectations. One didn’t _meet_ Asuka so much as they _experienced_ her. The only reprieve came when she was, at last, silently behind glass, like some sleeping fairy tale princess.

“Synchronization scores are good,” Ritsuko murmured, and it eased something within Misato’s chest to know that Asuka remained a viable resource. The tests soon ended, and when the staff pointed her in Misato’s direction, Asuka zoomed on over like a deadly and accurate missile. 

On the journey above ground to Misato’s car, Asuka sprinted up each and every escalator. She was short, but coltish, and far too quick for her own good. 

“Wow, you’re slow,” Asuka groused as Misato stood in place, allowing the machine to convey her where she needed to go. 

Misato rummaged for her car keys as she walked past Asuka. “If you wore heels for an entire work day, you wouldn’t be so eager to go for a run either.” 

She saw Asuka glare down at her own feet, as though they were personally responsible for any inadvertent cheating. “Okay, whatever. Now what? Can I go for a test run or something?” 

“What, in my car?” 

“No, in an EVA.”

Misato laughed. “You get to crash at my place until your flight back to Germany.” 

“What?” It wasn’t a question so much as a shriek of outrage. “So you people brought me out all this way here for nothing?” 

Misato began to pick up the pace, but Asuka wouldn’t remain left behind for very long. “

“Nah, we had to make sure you still work out as a pilot. And you can!” She turned to Asuka, and winked in an exaggerated way. _Please be happy! Look how happy I am about this!_ “It’s a pain, I know, but the technology out here really is the best in the world for that sort of thing.” 

“I guess,” Asuka said, and Misato could tell the kid thought she was being magnanimous. She rushed ahead, so she could be the one to open the doors to the outside world. “So, when do I actually get to _be_ a pilot, huh?”

Misato blinked and blinked, watching orange spots glide across her eyelids. She never thought she would grow accustomed to this ascent from below the earth. “Hopefully never,” she murmured.

The microexpression that dashed across Asuka’s face was one of bone-deep grief. Asuka quickly let out another yelp; this time, though, it was more of a wordless wail.

“What does _that_ mean? I thought you just said my scores were perfect.” 

_I said nothing about perfection._

The summer heat seeped into their skin, and sweat trickled down Misato’s back. 

(Amazingly, it was a fact that, far, far away, a perpetual winter’s night loomed over the blood red South Pole.)

“You’ll be needed as a pilot if the angels attack.” It was more of a ‘when’ than an ‘if.’ Awaiting the angels was like knowing that a calamitous comet was zooming towards the earth. A comet that had some capacity for free will and thought. “I don’t think you want that, right?” 

Asuka climbed into the car, and kept her silence until they hit their first red light.

“Being a pilot was what I was put on this earth to do. Of course I want the angels to attack. You probably want them attack, too.” 

Asuka’s sullen expression filled the rear-view mirror. The girl had her hands folded in her lap. She almost looked like she was at prayer, save for her snow-white knuckles. 

“Mostly I just want to keep Tokyo-3 safe, and if the angels would kind of screw that up don’t you think?” It was the right answer. The diplomatic answer. It didn’t reflect how often Misato woke up, heart pounding, mind filled to the brim with hazy images of blood and vengeance.

“Yeah, but if they never show up… doesn’t that make years of your work _pointless_?” 

Misato didn’t have an answer for that. 

“Anyway, how do you feel about being a tourist tomorrow?” She elbowed Asuka in the ribs. “I can show you around?”

Asuka harrumphed. “No way. I have homework to finish while I’m here. I’m in college, you know.”

And that was the last she spoke for the entire car ride.

*

The next day, when her phone beeped away at her, Misato had to rummage around in her blankets to find it. It was a difficult affair, interspersed with much cursing.

“God, Ritsuko, what is it?” 

“Good morning! Or should I say good afternoon?”

“Hah hah.” 

Ritsuko immediately got down to business, bless her heart. “How is the Second Child?” 

“Um.” In truth, other than some shrieking over Pen Pen, she hadn’t heard much from Asuka at all. Misato had microwaved up some dinner, the kid had refused to eat it, and then she’d gone straight to bed. “We’re just kind of hanging out. We’re going to head out later though! To do some sight-seeing! I think she’s excited!” Misato heard her own voice soar into higher and higher octaves, but she was powerless to put a stop to it. 

“Okay.” Misato could almost picture Ritsuko’s familiar smile. “That’s how I know you just got up. We’re due to get a huge sandstorm this afternoon and night. It’s been all over TV and the alert system.”

Dismayed, Misato held her phone away from her ear and looked- really looked- at all the alerts on the screen. “Son of a bitch.” 

“Indeed. So I can’t say I recommend taking Asuka out into the city today.” 

With sleep no longer on the agenda, Misato lurched out into the common room area of her apartment. Asuka was fully made-up, in neatly starched clothing, nice shoes, parts of her hair tied back just so. She rested her head on her fist, as if to affect bored nonchalance. Everything about it broke Misato's heart.

“Erm. So we’re kind of stuck here today.” Misato scratched at the back of her neck. “My bad.” 

Asuka didn’t rage, as expected. “I had a feeling, from what I saw on TV, but I sort of hoped…” She looked up at the clock. “Tokyo-3 really sucks.” 

Misato opened her cabinets; chips and beer. She opened her freezer; microwavable food, more chips, and a really old lime. On her counter was a pack of iced coffees that had never made it into her fridge. 

“I guess you can do your homework done while we wait this out?” She called over her shoulder

“Homework?” One of the kitchen chairs scraped against the floor. “Oh I lied about that. I finished it all before I came out here.” 

A world of eagerness pulsated behind that statement. Misato thought back to Asuka’s files. Some psychiatrist had noted the girl’s overwhelming excitement on being selected as a pilot, but that occasion had soon been marred by the suicide of her mother. Had Asuka been viewing this trip to Japan as a belated celebration of sorts? 

If so, _of course_ she’d done her homework beforehand. Anything to savor every moment of her coronation.

Misato navigated piles of junk in order to join Asuka by the window, promptly handing her one of the iced coffees. Her companion made no retort, but she did make a face upon taking the first sip. 

“Too bitter?”

“Too sugary.” 

“Wait, hold on.” Misato clinked their bottles together. “Congratulations on being chosen as a pilot. It’s a rare honor, and I’m sure you’ll do well.” 

Asuka’s eyes widened. 

“Um, of course I will.” 

The sky had been a deceptive blue, but the promised sandstorm soon loomed over the horizon. It was like a dirt brown tsunami, taller than any skyscraper. As it lumbered forward, it swallowed buildings, streets, and the horizon itself. It was as if the hand of God was erasing an entire civilization. Again. 

Asuka watched this happen, an enraptured gleam in her eyes. “Are they all being destroyed? Will we die?”

“Nah, we’ll just have to hose everything off, tomorrow.” 

The dust encased Misato’s apartment complex as the world outside turned a hazy, impenetrable orange. Only the lights of nearby buildings broke the monotony. 

“Mein Gott.” Asuka’s hand rested on the window latch. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Misato warned. “I know it looks sort of pretty, but you’ve gotta remember that sand is made of things like rocks and glass. Your lungs probably wouldn’t like it. And I _know_ I wouldn’t like it all over my apartment.”

Asuka splayed her fingers over one side of her ribcage, as though imagining breathing in sharp projectile sand. “I wasn’t going to open the window,” she protested. “I wasn’t. I’m not stupid.” 

_Yeah, but you wish you could._ It was probably like standing at the edge of a tall building and imagining the lethal fall, the lethal splat. There was no sense to it, but human curiosity had a life of its own. 

“It is kind of interesting, isn’t it? Back before Second Impact we never got sandstorms this big. So you’re getting to witness something… something pretty rare.” 

Asuka scrutinized Misato. “What’s with you?”

It was a good question. “I don’t know, I guess I’m feeling sentimental today.”

*

Misato didn’t realize she had grown accustomed to Asuka’s presence until the following morning, when she walked out into the kitchen area and the girl was nowhere to be found.

She knocked on the door to Asuka’s bedroom. “Still sleeping, kiddo?” 

“Of course not, it’s late. I just wanted to be on my own.” Asuka’s voice sounded hoarse. 

“I’m coming in, okay?” 

“No!” 

Misato slid open the door, and found that Asuka was, indeed, still in bed. There was a greenish tint to her skin, and she seemed disinclined to move.

“I’m _not_ sick,” she said, before Misato even suggested the idea. 

“I’ll be the judge of that, okay?” Asuka’s scowl deepened, but Misato had dealt with worse than the ire of eleven-year-olds. She knelt down, placed her hand to Asuka’s forehand, and was surprised to find that she wasn’t feverish. “Hmmm.”

“Told you.” 

This only heightened Misato’s curiosity. She leaned in closer. Asuka’s eyes seemed unable to focus on anything, and her breath smelled like nail polish remover. Misato leapt to her feet, and sprinted back to the kitchen. She grabbed onto one of her bottles of liquor, and held it up. A considerable amount of this drink had been consumed yesterday. 

“I’m not sick. I’m not.” Asuka yelled and yelled, as though her mantra would make it so. 

Misato rubbed her fingers against the label on her vodka, until of the paint began to flake away. 

“I’m not sick?” Asuka was still at it, but there was something hesitant about her this time. 

_I refuse to lose my job over this._

After returning the bottle to its place, Misato marched to Asuka’s room. The girl had pulled herself up to a sitting position, but it did nothing to make her look stronger. 

“After I went to bed, you got drunk last night.” Misato allowed for no uncertainty in her statement, nor would she provide any means of evasion.

Asuka’s gaze continued to waver. 

“Correction; you’re _still_ kind of drunk, and definitely hungover as all hell. Worst of both worlds, huh?” 

“Fine. Yes.” Asuka’s shoulders slumped. “But what did you expect? We did nothing yesterday and I couldn’t sleep and I was so _bored_.” 

Misato drew in a deep breath, preparing to let the kid have it. However, one proper look at Asuka, and all her angry words lodged somewhere in the back of her throat. She didn’t actually enjoy kicking someone while they were down. 

“Lie down, I’ll be right back.” 

She knew a fair bit about hangovers, after all. First thing first; she had to fill her largest mug with water. When offered it, Asuka downed the thing all in one go. 

“I didn’t realize how thirsty I was until you gave that to me.” Asuka was sprawled out, face down, with her head just by Misato’s left thigh. “But now I feel it. Even after all that water, I still feel like I swallowed an entire salt-shaker. I feel like there’s a knife in my forehead. Makes me mad.” 

“That would be your liver protesting,” Misato said, and Asuka groaned. “Seriously, why did you do it?” 

“I don’t know, but I don’t think I’ll try it again. A better question would be… Why do people keep drinking it after they know what it tastes like? Because that stuff was completely disgusting.” 

Misato picked at one of her cuticles. Asuka’s room had no windows. Misato thought of the girl tiptoeing to the kitchen, selecting the bottle of vodka because it had the prettiest label on it, and drinking by eerie blue-ish glow of her bathroom nightlight. She had to have recoiled at that first sip but, knowing Asuka, the girl had probably doggedly chugged it until she could no longer feel her own throat.

“Mostly adults drink to get drunk, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“That’s stupid, too.” Asuka kicked at her bed. She kicked, and kicked, and kicked. “That wasn’t fun at all. I felt completely out of control. As soon as it started I wanted it to stop but it _wouldn’t_ stop.” 

That was the basis of alcohol’s appeal, as far as Misato was concerned. 

“Do you want more water?”

“If they find out about this will they not let me be a pilot?” Asuka wailed, not hearing Misato’s question. She rolled off the bed and made a mad dash to the bathroom. Misato covered her ears, so she didn’t hear the girl retching. She could offer the girl privacy, at least. 

Asuka ambled back into the room, looking like terror itself was keeping her upright. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Misato promised, as if the prior minutes had never happened. “I won’t let anyone stop you from being a pilot.” 

“But… I…” Asuka embraced herself, shivering a little. She reminded Misato of a child who had gotten separated from her mother in the grocery store. 

_I can’t be what you need._ Misato wanted to bury her head in the nearest pillow and scream her lungs out. _I don’t know how we even got here, but I can’t be what you need. I’m only in my twenties!_

* 

Misato was good at nursing hangovers, at least. She provided more cups of water, started up some coffee, and microwaved her most filling frozen meals. Slowly but surely, she coaxed Asuka back to life. In return, Asuka reconstructed her own emotional barriers, and Misato felt strangely proud of her. 

When her hangover dissipated to manageable levels, Asuka began ceaselessly inquiring about the state of Tokyo-3 in the sandstorm’s aftermath.

“Normally I’d be helping direct the cleanup,” Misato said, “but since I have a guest…” 

Asuka slammed her latest cup of coffee down onto the kitchen table. Pen Pen, who was indulging in a nap, glanced up with one of his trademark lethargic stares.

“No, no. You go help them and take me with you. Don’t try to pin your laziness on me.” 

Misato was going to protest that it might be dangerous, but she quickly reconsidered. All things being equal, it was probably more wholesome to have Asuka on cleanup duty than having her be a pilot. And the latter was almost certainly going to happen one day.

Once they were running around in the summer heat, they got to work. Asuka blustered and yelled, but she took to her tasks with great zeal. There was only one deviation from her diligence; once, Misato caught her tracing the words “ich war hier” into a sand-covered window. 

Misato pretended not to see it. 

* 

When Asuka’s plane announced that it was boarding, she all but tackled Misato in an embrace. Asuka’s bones seemed to poke Misato’s flesh, and her arms closed around Misato like a spider bearing down on prey. But it was surprise, more than discomfort, that made Misato go still.

“I still want the angels to come back,” Asuka murmured in Misato’s ear. “I can’t help it. I'm sorry.” 

Misato could still remember the sharp sense of relief she felt upon achieving top-secret clearance in NERV. That had been the day she could finally say out loud that it wasn’t a meteor that had pulverized Antarctica. All the devastation that day had come from the ground up. 

“You were right. I want them to come back, too,” Misato whispered. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

Asuka stepped back, and smiled in triumph. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ich war hier" means "I was here" in German.


	6. Prologue (Again)

The boy on the phone didn’t sound like Ayanami. With his hesitant, delicate voice he didn’t remind her of Asuka either. 

“I’m sending you my picture in the mail, so you’ll know it’s me when I come pick you up, okay?” 

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be on the lookout for it.”

As she had chattered away, Commander Ikari’s eyes had been boring holes into her from behind his glasses. The rumor mill had made a big deal about he wasn’t going to meet his own child, but Misato couldn’t fault him for it. At least he didn’t promise what he couldn’t give. 

_Still though…_

Maybe she could hand the phone to the Commander at least. “Hey, Shinji, do you want-”

Commander Ikari made a violent motion with one hand. He mouthed; _don’t even think about it, Katsuragi._ He didn’t seem too angry to her, but he was final in his judgment.

“Do I want to… what?” 

“Ah, it’s nothing. I was just wondering if you wanted me to pray for your safe travels?” Misato clutched onto her crucifix. 

Sometimes, it was all she had left.


End file.
